scratch marks

Bind my hands

And bond my feet

Clamp my tongue between my cheek.

Don't let me out

Never mind my cries

'Cause all I'll do is write, write, write.

I'll twist and turn

Test the strength of rope

Maybe find a nail to cut it on.

But block the light

And keep me blind

Or else you'll hear me speak my mind.

My tongue is sharp and pointed

Every word a jab at your bad ideas.

The hot magma's cooling now

And so's my heaving chest.

Check my eyes

My fingers, keep them raw.

Make it hard to do what I want.

And tempt me,

With false promises

Keep the hope in a fragile bottle

Blow on it and it'll fall

Let me hold it.

I'd give my mind for it

Give my skull for it

Curling myself 'round it.

Five more weeks and that's enough

Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide

All I need is one way to write

Bursting at the seams the poetry comes

I've written prose but it's swaying in my mind

I can't keep it there

It must be outside.

It must be out.

Get it out.

I want it out.

Repulsive and deadly every letter

It's unholy the thought of it

The creative mind in its fragility

Better off with logic than empathy.

Testing ropes with a different kind of magma

The heat cooled to glass

With pampered sand I accidentally swallowed.

How quick my mind tipped

And the sand-crab burrowing to hide in a glass shell

Let me hoard what I got rid of,

What I'm scarce of.

But sand-crabs can't see when they're over the edge.

Clink

~